#off prompt

So... I had nothing for the prompt of the day, Babysitting, so I grabbed another fluffy prompt off of this list.

Getting them a coffee just the way they like it. 

-

Cal had thought this would be an easy, obvious date. Coffee. In the coffee shop where they met. It was uninspired, even. But then she made the mistake of volunteering to order the coffee while Xoti grabbed a table. Cal liked black coffee. Xoti liked… complicated coffee.

“One venti drip coffee black, one…”

Edér watched her expectantly from behind the counter.

“…um…” Cal stared at the chalkboard listing out the drinks. “Mocha? With whipped cream? And… extra flavors?”

“Cal, you gotta tell me what the flavors are,” said Edér patiently.

Good thing there wasn’t a line. “I don’t know what tastes good together. I just know she likes drinks that taste like candy bars.”

“We do have our holiday specials now,” he pointed to another chalkboard.

“Already? But it’s only Deep Autumn.”

Edér shrugged. “It’s after the Final Hour.”

“But it’s not even End of Reap yet!” Cal squinted at the listings. “Fine, I’ll take the gingerbread one with whipped cream. Grande.”

“One venti drip coffee, one grande gingerbread latte extra whip.”

“Yes that.”

-

“What’s this?” Xoti asked as Cal handed her the coffee.

Cal slid into her chair. “Uh… gingerbread latte?”

Xoti took a sip. “This is delicious!”

As far as the world was concerned, Bucky Barnes had died shortly after the end of World War II.  He’d intended to take a break, maybe retire someplace sunny.  Get the war out of his head and never return to it.  Except things didn’t work out like he planned.

At first, he had rules: only people he knew were guilty and nothing close to home.  He traveled a lot, so hitting people out of his way wasn’t hard.  With his enhanced strength, killing them was the easy part. 

People caught on, or at least sort of.  When the first attempt to contact him via one of his old crime scenes was discovered by the police, he sent out feelers.  They came back with a lot of job offers.  Even then, he was picky.  Only killed the guilty.  Never asked too many questions about who was hiring him either. 

It paid better then the government, not that Bucky felt a particular need for money.  He celebrated his 50th birthday alone, nary a gray hair or wrinkle on his face.  Officially, he wrote to the few people that knew who he was and told them to consider him dead.  He picked up new names.  Remade himself.  Picked up a new calling card.  Or rather, the old one.

He went back to being a sniper, but this time he took out those with the biggest prices on their heads.  Stopped caring about the ‘guilty’ part of his requirements.

Then: Miharu.  Gorgeous, talented lawyer one his identities ran afoul of.  He’d considered going honest for her, making up a solid identity.  Even worked out how he’d pull off the aging thing as to not make anyone suspicious.  Turned out he need not have bothered.  Mikoto, Miharu’s older and slightly overprotective brother, hired the services of the Winter Soldier.  For a mob hit.

Which led to him finding out just how foxy a lady the object of his affections was.  He was smitten.  He figured as long as Miharu was holding the leash, he might not mind being the attack dog.  So he started courting her- as the Winter Soldier.  Leaving gifts, as it were.  Livers, hearts, lungs- all healthy stuff.  All she might want to eat.  Hunting for her, so she need not bother with it at other times.

It was a flirtation with murder, especially considering Simon Anzerlod (one of his identities) was currently her client dealing with several unpaid parking tickets.  Merely a matter of time before he was caught out.  And he was caught, red handed.  Leaving another heart for her.  Then the chase was on.  Simon disappeared, along with everyone else he’d been recently.  The whole Yamaguchi clan was after him.

But it was Miharu who caught him. Miharu who bested him.  And Miharu who tamed him.  She’d caught up to him in Egypt, where he was using the unrest to hide his presence.  Then she’d crippled him- shot out his knees and knocked him out cold.  Which was hard to do with the serum.  He woke up several times in his transportation back to her family estate, but never for long enough to do anything.

She had tried branding him first, but it didn’t stick.  Instead he ended up with mock dog tags.  She’d taken his old ones, presumably gotten rid of them.  His new ones were quite simple.

                          Property of Miharu Yamaguchi.